The Boy & The Beast
by Night Owl 93
Summary: To settle a debt, a man sells his virgin teenage son to a monstrous scar-faced gang leader. The boy is kidnapped and brought to the gangster's home. Soon he learns there is more to this scarred "beast" than meets the eye. a modern gay humanized version of Beauty & the Beast
1. Chapter 1

Alistair Coleman was sweating buckets. His knuckles were white from his tight grip on the steering wheel. His heart was pounding a thousand miles an hour in his chest, so hard he almost thought he was about to have a heart attack. He only wished that he would, that way he wouldn't have to face the music when he went inside. The guy was fish food, and he knew it, but there was no way out of this. So, Alistair Coleman straightened his tie, wiped his forehead with the back of his fist, and stepped out of his car and into the restaurant.

"Ehem, Darko party," he said to the matre d'.

"This way." the matre d' said flatly, leading the sweating man to the farthest booth in the restaurant, where his host, Mr. Darko, was already sitting, waiting for him.

"Al. Ya made it," the man greeted him with a smile, smoke from his cigarette seeping out from between his cracked lips, "Have a seat."

Trying his best to stop his shaking, Alistair sat across the table opposite from Mr. Darko, making sure as not to stare at the man or his scars.

"You know why I called you here?" Mr. Darko asked him, tapping the ash from the tip of his cigarette then drawing another drag.

"Y-yes," Alistair answered with a gulp, "I do."

"Sooo?" Mr. Darko drawled, "Where is it?"

"Well, the- the thing is," Alistair stammered, his thumbs wrestling together underneath the table, the sweat on his brow returning more profusely than before, "I can't pay you back; I just don't have the money."

"Yet!" he stammered on desperately when he could see Darko's eyes burning, "I don't have it yet, but I will! I just need a little more time!"

Mr. Darko blew his smoke directly into Alistair's face when he had said that. "You had plenty of time, Al," Darko hissed. He then cracked his neck, appearing to have calmed himself, or at least appearing to, then put his cigarette out into the table's surface and stood up from his seat. "I'll be seeing you later." he then said lowly, straightening the lapels of his jacket.

Mr. Darko then turned and began to walk straight towards the door. If Alistair didn't do something quick, he would be dead within the hour. He only had one other option.

"Wait!"

Darko stopped and peered back over his shoulder. "Don't waste my time more than ya already have Al," he sneered.

"I can offer you something."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

Alistair took a heavy breath before he could give his answer. "My son."

Mr. Darko's eyebrow raised, and he returned to his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm listening."

"My son," Alistair began, unfolding his wallet and taking out the photograph he had of his boy, "he's almost eighteen. He's a real good-looking kid, has girls and guys alike trailing after him, but I know for a fact he's still a virgin. And I know how you like the young ones. If you agree to give me an extension, he's all yours."

Alistair Coleman squeezed his eyes, ashamed with himself, and he slid the photo across the table. Darko snatched it up to have a look for himself if this kid would really be worth it. As soon as he saw the kid's face, his eyes lit up.

It was a school photo, showing just him from the shoulders up, but it was enough for him to see how beautiful the boy really was. Alistair said he was almost eighteen, but the kid could easily pass for sixteen or fifteen. His face contained perfectly smooth chiseled features, with a sharp angular jaw line, rosy pink lips, and dark hazel-colored eyes. His skin was pure white, while his hair was dark brown, almost black, and ran straight almost to his shoulders, with his bangs styled to go across his forehead.

Mr. Darko grinned up at Alistair, and extended his hand to shake.

"You got yerself a deal."

* * *

**here it is, my modernized, humanized version of Beauty & The Beast, about a beautiful young boy and a scar-faced gangster who fall in love**

**i always wanted to write a humanized version of Beauty & the Beast, but i finally decided on this because of my own boyfriend whose face is scarred, so i decided to write it based on us :D 3**

**and i'm hoping me & him will be able to collaborate on this; i have a feeling he'll be able to describe the gangster's thoughts & feelings better than i can**

**enjoy reading, cuz i'll enjoy writing**


	2. Chapter 2

He should have been asleep. It was almost two o'clock at night, but he was wide awake. His father was asleep in his room; as soon as he had come home he went straight up to his own room, while the boy himself sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed, dressed comfortably in a large white t-shirt and sweats, drawing in his sketchpad with the radio playing softly. It was a good thing too, or else he would have been totally unprepared against what was about to come.

The boy's head turned his attention up from his drawing when he heard what he thought was a noise at the front door of the house. He turned the music down and held his ear out, listening out for any more sound, but there were none. Must have been hearing things.

He shrugged and returned to his sketch-work, when he heard the sound of something shattering, along with the sound of feet stepping down the hallway. There was somebody breaking into his house!

The boy acted quickly and quietly; he tucked his sketchpad under his pillow then silently crossed the room and flipped off his lamp, then he slid inside his closet, carefully pulling its door shut, and hid himself behind his clothes and boxes. It may not have entirely been the best of hiding places, but it was the best he could do. It didn't matter anyway, because by the time he had himself concealed, his bedroom door opened.

The boy kept his mouth covered to mask the sound of his breath as the light in his room had been turned on. From outside the door, he could hear the sounds of feet from not just one, but two men, who, from the sounds of things, were tearing up the room.

"Where in the hell is he?" one of them growled.

Next he heard footsteps coming straight for the closet. _'Please, don't let them find me,'_ the boy was screaming inside his own head, _'Don't let them find me, don't let them find me, don't let them find me, don't let them find me!'_ But his prayers were denied. The door was pulled open and the clothes on the rack were shoved away, and the boy was face-to-face with a boy barely older than him, dressed all in black except for the white cap on his shaved head.

"Found 'im!" he declared with a grin. He then reached in and grabbed the boy by his hair and dragged him out, pushing him down so that he stood on his knees. The boy howled in pain, but the guy didn't seem to care. He would've fought back, elbowed him in the ribs or socked him in his diaphragm to knock the wind out of him or something to get him to loosen his grip, but the guy's accomplice, a heavyset man, also dressed in black with a black bandana tied around his head, had a gun aimed right for him.

"Don't even think about tryin' to get away." the Black Bandana threatened, as if reading the boy's thoughts. "Tie his hands." he then told the White Cap, tossing to him a roll of duct tape. White Cap then went to work binding the boy's wrists together with the tape.

"Now let's get outta here." White Cap grunted, hoisting the boy back up to his feet, and the two lead him out the door.

As they pulled him down the driveway towards their car parked by the curbside, the boy looked all around the neighborhood for signs of any other people around to whom he could call to for help. But unfortunately for him, there was nobody, which wasn't entirely a surprise; it was in the dead of night, of course there wasn't anybody else around.

The two men shoved the boy into the backseat, along with the White Cap, while the Black Bandana got behind the wheel and they were off.

The whole ride, the boy just sat in the backseat with his legs pulled up to his chest, staring mutely out the window in both fear and disbelief. Just five minutes ago he was sitting in his bedroom, now he was tied up in the back of a car getting dragged off to god knows where.

"You sure are quiet." White Cap had remarked at the boy's silence.

"Pretty and well-behaved," Black Bandana chuckled from the front seat, peering at him in the rear-view mirror in a way that made the boy shiver, "The boss always knows how to pick 'em, don't he?"

The two shared a laugh, while the boy curled up even further in his seat. Within another fifteen minutes, the car stopped in front of an old three-story house in a run-down neighborhood the boy had never seen before.

"Here we are." Black Bandana announced, removing his keys from the ignition and stepping out of the car. White Cap opened his door and stepped out as well, pulling the boy along with him by his bindings.

The two men led the boy into the house, then proceeded to take him up the flight of stairs onto the second floor. They continued to lead him on down the hallway to the last door on the right. As the Black Bandana opened the door, the boy noticed the lock that was on the outside of the door.

The boy was then brought into a single bedroom, with only a bed and desk inside. Once they were in, White Cap took out a knife from his pockets. The boy backed away, fearful, until his back was against the far wall, but White Cap still advanced towards him.

"Chill kid," he said, grabbing the boy's arm, "We got strict orders: no ruining the merchandise." As he said this, White Cap used the knife to cut through the tape, freeing the boy's wrists.

"Now," White Cap then said, stripping the tape off from the boy's arms and balling them up, "go ahead and make yerself at home."

"Heh, yeah," Black Bandana snorted, "Yer gonna be here for a long while, huhuhuh."

The two men then left the boy alone in the room. The boy could hear the lock sliding into place after the door had been shut. He definitely was not getting out that way. As he searched his surroundings, he noticed the window that was above the bed. The boy leapt over towards it, pushed apart the curtains, and began pushing up on the frame. As hard as the boy tried to open it, the window just would not budge. He then looked and saw the problem: the window had been nailed shut.

At the wall to his right was another door. When he jumped off of the bed and dashed through, he found that it only led into a cramped bathroom. In the tile wall above the bathtub was a tiny square window. It looked small, but hopefully it could be big enough for the boy to squeeze through. The boy undid the lock and pushed up on the frame, but it was no use; this window was nailed shut as well.

Defeated, the boy collapsed and curled up in a ball in the tub, burying his face in his knees, curling his fingers in his hair, his hands trembling in frustration, tears welling up in his eyes. He wasn't going anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

The boy woke up again when the sun shone right in his eyes through the window. He must have passed out; he didn't even remember going to sleep. The last thing he remembered was curling up in the bathtub of the bathroom in this room he was locked in after being kidnapped from his room in the night. Except, when the boy looked around, he was lying curled up in the bed with the blankets pulled up to his neck, not in the tub he was in the night before. Had someone actually carried him to bed? The thought made the boy's stomach feel a little queasy. When he pushed the sheets off of him, he was relieved to see his clothes intact.

As the boy sat upright, he noticed something placed atop the desk that was against the opposite wall, something that was not there before. He got up and walked over to see what exactly it was. It was a set of clothes, an old black t-shirt and holed jeans. Resting on top of the clothes was a piece of white paper folded in half. He opened it and read: _'Morning kid. Hope you got a good night's rest. I got you some clothes to change into, figured you could use them. Go ahead & shower up, then come on down & get yourself something to eat. See you soon.'_

With a shaky breath, the boy put down the note, took up the clothes that had been left for him, and walked into the bathroom, starting up the shower. He didn't want to; he didn't want to be there at all, that was for sure, but he really didn't have much of a choice at the moment.

While the boy was bathing under the hot spray from the shower head, he spent the whole time thinking about his current situation. What was he even doing here? Who were these people who brought him here and what did they want with him? Then he wondered about his father. What was he doing right now? At a police station, talking to the cops about his son's disappearance? He certainly hoped so.

Once he felt he had been in there long enough (he guessed about half an hour), the boy shut off the water and stepped out from the shower, shaking his wet hair like a dog then toweling himself dry. After he was dry, the boy proceeded to slip on his clean clothes. Whoever it was that retrieved them apparently forgot to grab him any underwear. It would be far too uncomfortable for him to walk around commando being where he was, so he just reused the briefs he had worn in his sleep.

When he tried the knob of the bedroom door, he found that it was actually unlocked! The boy took a deep, calming breath, then cracked the door open. First he poked his head out and looked around, checking to see if there was anybody around. It seemed the hallway was empty. Keeping his steps soft, the boy cautiously walked down the hall and down the stairs. As soon as he reached the bottom, he checked around again to see if there was anyone, but there weren't any signs of life around. He appeared to be all alone.

The boy swiftly ran straight ahead for the door, but when he tried to turn the knob, it wouldn't budge. He twisted and pulled and pushed, but to no avail. The door was locked good and tight.

"Goin' somewhere?"

The boy practically jumped right out of his skin as he heard a voice coming from the living room to his left. He stepped inside and found the man who spoke sitting leaned back comfortably on the sofa, smoking a cigarette from between his gloved fingers.

"Good, yer finally up," the man said with a smile, his voice containing a slight rasp and a Boston accent, "Did ya sleep alright?"

The man looked to be about in his mid to late twenties, with a head of wispy brown curls and eyes like an arctic wolf, both bright icy blue in color. He was dressed in dark wrinkled jeans with holes shredded through them and a black hoodie jacket.

What the boy noticed the most about him, next to his eyes, were his scars; his face was covered with them. Under his right eye was a crescent-shaped scar. His lips, upper and lower, were cracked by a deep scar etched diagonally across them. The bridge of his nose, the cleft of his chin, and his right eyebrow were cracked like they had each been broken. Both of his cheeks had Chelsea Grin scars carved into them, running curved from the corners of his mouth up to his ears. Then there was a particularly deep, gruesome scar that ran across his face, starting from forehead going diagonally down his cheek. The boy couldn't even imagine where he had gotten all of them from.

"Pretty gruesome," the man then said, scratching his bottom lip with his thumbnail when he noticed the boy's eyes on his scars, his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth at the edge of his scar, "I know."

The boy then looked down at his feet, blushing and scratching the back of his head, embarrassed. This made the man laugh, amused at the boy's bashfulness.

"You are too cute." the boy then heard him chuckle. He looked back up to meet the man's eyes as he sucked another drag from his cigarette. "So, don't ya wanna sit down or somethin'?" he then exhaled, "Make yerself comfy."

The boy looked around for a place for him to sit. The room contained the one couch that the man was sitting on and two recliner chairs. Catching the boy's searching eyes, the scar-faced man patted his hand on the cushion next to him, giving him a sly wink.

Pressing his lips together nervously, the boy walked over to the couch. To the man's disappointment, he sat in the recliner farthest away, sitting with his legs pretzeled together Indian style in his seat.

"Hmph, I freak ya out that bad, huh?" the man snorted at the boy's distance as he finished off his smoke, his tongue licking at his scarred mouth again, "They freak out a lotta people. Doesn't surprise me a pretty-lookin' thing like yerself would be too."

Little did he know that wasn't the case. In fact, the boy wasn't repulsed or disgusted by his face in any way by, but more like he was fascinated by them. The intricate details they added to his face truly intrigued him. If he had his drawing pad with him, he would have loved to sketch him. But regardless of his looks, this was the man who had the boy tied up and dragged out of his room in the dead of night into this old house out in no-man's-land.

After a gulp, the boy finally spoke up. "Why am I here?"

The man gave the boy a slight smirk, then moaned as he cracked his neck. "I'm thirsty," he grunted as he got to his feet, "Ya want a soda?" The man gestured for the boy to follow him as he walked off into the other room, the kitchen.

"Have a seat at the bar."

The boy did as he was told and sat in one of the stools at the bar while the man fished around in the refrigerator, producing two cans of cold Mountain Dew.

"Here ya go kid," he said as he set one can in front of the boy while he drank from his own, "Drink up."

But the boy didn't drink. He merely sat staring morosely at the perspiring can, running his thumbs along the aluminum rim. "You didn't answer my question." he then said, looking back up into the man's eyes as he spoke.

The man took one more large gulp from his can, then rested his arms on the countertop and sighed, "Okay then. Well kid, ya see, it's like this. Yer dad, he owes me a shit-load o' money. He couldn't pay up when his time came, so o' course I was gonna off 'im. But then daddy made a deal: I give 'im some more time to come up with the cash, and I get you."

"I don't believe it," the boy whispered, "My dad… he'd never…"

The man smirked and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small square slip of paper, holding it up for the boy to see. It was his school photograph from his junior year, the one he knew his father kept in his wallet.

"Yer dad gave me this," the man told him, waving the photo back and forth in front of his face, "when we struck our deal."

The boy snatched the photograph away from the man, holding it in his own shaking hands. The photo crumbled as the boy's hand tightened into a trembling fist. It was true. He didn't want to believe it, but it was true.

"It's sad when father figures act like anything but," then said the man, "Trust me, I'd know."

"It doesn't entirely surprise me," the boy then said, tossing the crumbled paper ball to the floor, "Dad was never much of a parent anyway. He abandoned me and my mother when I was a baby and hasn't even been the least bit involved in my life until now, and it's only 'cause my mom's dead."

"Geez. Sorry."

"It's whatever," the boy sighed, sniffing and wiping his nose. "So, what's gonna happen to me?"

"That's up to you kiddo," the man answered, "I, uhh, personally have a few ideas in mind, heh." The man chewed the scar on his bottom lip, his gaze moving up and down the boy's body as he said this, causing the boy's face to flush red hot.

This made the man laugh grinning again. "You are so adorable when ya blush like that."

The boy looked down and popped his soda can open and took a small, nervous sip from it. When the cold liquid hit the bottom of his stomach, it growled loudly from hunger. The boy's hand pressed against his abdomen, as if that way he could silence it.

"Ya hungry?" asked the man.

The boy nodded, rubbing his empty belly.

"Well, it's almost eleven now," the man then said, "So what'll it be? Breakfast or lunch?"

"I dunno," the boy shrugged, "Got any eggs?"

"Sure do," the man answered, reaching inside the fridge and bringing out a carton.

"Awesome." The boy then got up from his stool and moved around the counter, taking the carton of eggs and moving to fire up the stove with the pan already left on top of it. He sliced off a stick of butter, watching it sizzle and spread across the hot surface.

When the pan was nice and greasy, the boy cracked open a couple of eggs and emptied their insides into the pan, all while the man stood leaned back against the bar, watching him. The boy pulled open the drawers that were under him in search for a spatula for him to use. He soon found it, in the same drawer in which the kitchen knives were kept. As soon as he noticed this, the man came up behind him and had his hands wrapped around the boy's wrists.

"I hope you're not thinkin' of doin' anything stupid, kid." the man whispered in his ear.

"I just," the boy gulped, "need the spatula."

"Oh! Well then," the man then said, reaching one hand to retrieve the spatula from the drawer, while his other hand remained around the boy's wrist, "Here you go."

The man handed the boy the spatula, then stood back to watch as the boy proceeded to use it to scramble up the eggs, sprinkling on some salt and pepper to add a little extra flavor to it. Once they were done, he shut off the burner and scooped the eggs onto a plate. He started eating them where he stood, when the man then said to him, "Why don't ya have a seat at the table? Make yerself at home."

The boy then took his suggestion and sat down at the small circular dining table and began forking his eggs into his mouth in small bites. Meanwhile, the gangster took a seat across the table from the boy, resting his chin in his palm as he continued to observe him.

Halfway through his meal, the boy gulped, "You keep staring at me." his eyes looking meekly up through his hair to meet the gaze of the man.

"I'm just… admiring," the man smiled, "I like to appreciate beautiful things, like you."

Hearing himself being called that "b" word caused the boy's face to burn up again, which made the man laugh yet again.

"Not many people call me that, you know," the boy muttered with another bite of eggs, "Well, nobody, actually. Sexy, fine, hot, but, beautiful? Never heard that one before."

"I find that hard to believe," the man then said, his split eyebrow perking up, "As much as a kid like you still bein' a virgin."

Hearing that last sentence, the boy choked on the piece of egg he was right in the middle of swallowing. "How," hack, hack, "do you know," cough, "about that?!"

"Yer dad told me." the man answered.

The boy then hid his face in his hands, feeling more horrendously humiliated than he ever had before. "What else did he tell you about me?" he asked in a groan, his face still hidden.

"Just that yer still a virgin," the man answered, "even though you apparently get lotsa attention from both sides, and that yer almost eighteen and'll be a senior after this summer. And that's pretty much it. Never did tell me your name though. Don't suppose you'd mind tellin' me kiddo?"

The boy then raised his head back up, once again meeting the gangster's wolf-like eyes.

"Zackary," he answered, "My name is Zackary."

"Zackary," the man echoed, then saying, "Okay Zack, my home is your home now. If yer gonna be stayin' here, I want yer stay to be as comfortable as possible. The only condition is: you. Never. Leave. This house. If you ever do, it'll be with me, and yer not goin' _anywhere_ outta my sight. 'Cause if that happens, the deal between me an' yer dad is up. And that means, pops'll be fuckin' worm feed. Ya got me?"

Zackary nodded his head, knowing that everything this scar-faced psycho said should not be taken lightly.

"But don't worry," the man then said, "Long as your with me, nothin's gonna happen to ya. Promise. I'll take real good care o' ya."

The gangster then guzzled down the last of his drink and crushed the can in his hand. He then rose and went to toss the can into the trash. He paused for a moment and turned back to face Zack.

"Oh yeah, and by the way," he continued, "If yer thinkin' of, ya know, _killin'_ me and tryin' to escape on your own, don't, 'cause I got the only key outta this place. And anything happens to me, there's _nothin'_ to stop my boys from gettin' there hands on you, and trust me kid, you do _not_ want that; some o' them like cute lil boys like you even more than I do, and don't got nearly the restraint I got. Got it?"

The boy nodded again, having reached a full understanding of the situation. "I got it."

He then finished off his plate and rinsed it off in the sink.

"Ya know," the man then said, "I could get some stuff over from your place, make ya feel just a lil bit more at home. If ya want. Yer definitely gonna need some o' yer own clothes; not all mine'll fit ya as well as them yer wearin' now."

"Yeah, I guess that's okay," the boy shrugged, "Do you even know where-"

"Yeah, I already know the address," the gangster cut him off, "I had to know where to send my boys to get ya."

"Oh, right," Zack then grumbled, shaking his head feeling a bit dumb, "Duh, of course."

"I'll be back later," the man then said as he strode towards the door, taking the key out from his pocket to unlock it.

"Hey, wait," Zack then piped up, stopping the man just as he had his hand on the door, "I don't even know what your name is."

The man then turned and smirked at the boy, the scar on his cheek crinkling, his eyes seeming to burn into Zack's.

"Call me Joker," he told him, his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth where his Chelsea-scar began, "Make yourself at home kid."

The gangster called Joker then walked out the front door, locking it back up.

* * *

**AT LAST! here it is!**

**maybe not quite as exciting as the previous chapters, but a great introduction of these two characters**


	4. Chapter 4

The gangster with the scarred face, known only as Joker and Mr. Darko to everyone, pulled his car up onto the front driveway of the Coleman house behind Alistair's. Sunday afternoon, so that left Al with a day off work to himself.

After lighting up a cigarette, Joker stepped out of his car and walked up to the front door. Not bothering to knock, he tried for the knob, only to find it locked. But that wouldn't deter him. In just a couple seconds, he picked the lock and pushed through the door, finding Alistair standing in his kitchen, tossing back a shot. When he set his glass back down, the color dropped from his face when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" he stammered, his body quaking with dread.

"Tryin' to drown your sorrows, are ya Al? Heheheh," Joker chuckled, blowing smoke out from between his lips, kicking the door shut behind him, "Chill, old man. I'm just here to pick up some things for your kid."

"Zackary? He's okay?"

"Yes, Al, yer baby boy is nice and safe. But he's gonna need some clothes 'nd shit, so... care to show me to his room?"

After another drink, Alistair proceeded to lead Joker down the hallway.

"I'll get a suitcase." Al then said, leaving Joker standing alone in the doorway of Zackary's bedroom.

In the time that he was left waiting, Joker flipped on the light and looked around inside, seeing the bed at the left, the desk against the far wall under the window, and the bookshelf to the right with three rows of shelves and a television set atop it. On the middle shelf was a row of novels, all seeming to be in the horror genre. On the bottom were his DVD collection, all horror as well. The selection intrigues him.

Along the first shelf were a few framed photographs. All of them were of a small boy, whom he correctly assumed to be Zackary as a child, and a young-looking woman with long straight black hair and the same face as Zackary's. The first couple photos were of Zackary as a baby, one with both of his parents and the other with just his mother, another was of him as a young boy with short brown hair, and the final one was from some time more recently, with the two of them standing side-by-side. With their matching black hair and identical beautiful faces they looked more like brother and sister instead of mother and son.

Joker then moved over to the closet, pulling open the door and flipping on the light inside. He then began thumbing through the hangers. Sweatshirts, t-shirts, skinny jeans; most of them black or otherwise dark in color.

His attention turned back towards the door as he heard Alistair returning with an empty black suitcase in his hand. Al set the bag on top of the bed and unzipped it, while Joker started taking clothes out of the boy's closet (picking the ones he was sure Zack would look the best in), folded them in half and handed them over to Al to put in the bag.

After the clothes were packed, Joker took up one of the photographs, the most recent-looking one. "This Zack and his mom?" he asked, holding the framed picture for Al to see.

"Yeah," answered Al, taking only a brief glance at it before turning his head away.

"She's real pretty," Joker commented, taking one last look at the picture before tossing it into the bag, "Shame things didn't work out between the two o' you."

Alastair's jaw clenched, either stifling tears or harsh words, or probably both, as he looked away from the picture. He started to close the suitcase back up, but Joker stopped him. He scooped out Zackary's DVD collection and stuffed them into the bag as well.

"For if, and when, he gets bored," he said as he zipped up the bag himself.

"Well, it's been fun, old man," Joker then said as he hoisted up the case in his hand, "But I better be heading back before the kid gets too lonely."

As he began to leave, Al stopped him. "Wait!"

Joker turned back to him with an impatient sigh. "Grrrr, what? Now?"

"Can you do just one thing for me?"

"I don't think it wise for someone as indebted to me as you are to be askin' for more favors."

"Just... promise me you won't hurt him," Al requested, pleadingly, "Please."

"I don't intend to," Joker said reassuringly, then in a darker tone, "But that all depends on you now, don't it?"

And with those final words, Joker took the stuffed suitcase out to his car to be delivered back to Zackary.

* * *

**yay! after MONTHS a new chapter :D**

**sorry it took so long, i just got too caught up with completing NiGHTMARE plus all the other stories of mine that have also needed work =P**


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